


Medic!

by theonetryingtolive



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-09 23:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20125426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonetryingtolive/pseuds/theonetryingtolive
Summary: Dick screamed again, a hoarse, painful cry broke free from the deepest crevasses of his soul. He frantically tugged the warm body further into the foxhole, and screamed again. The world had shattered.





	Medic!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madamsledge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamsledge/gifts).

Richard Winters felt frozen to the bone. He stared, and stared at the red snow with a look of mute horror in his face. Someone was screaming in the background, they were still being shot at, and the ground was still shaking with the wrath of a thousand gods. Dick screamed again, a hoarse, painful cry broke free from the deepest crevasses of his soul. He frantically tugged the warm body further into the foxhole, and screamed again. The world had shattered. 

Once, a long time ago, Dick had fallen from a tree and broken his arm. He’d hit the ground so hard he’d been unable to breathe. Mute, gasping, he stared up at the branches above him, and saw the face of god. Now, a lifetime later, he was breathing in the wet earth, screaming hoarsely for a god he knew wasn’t there. If there was a god, he had abandoned the earth a long time ago, probably when Dick was still gasping for breath looking up at those broken branches. 

Nerve-wracking screams, the weight of something heavy on his back, a warm wetness seeping through his shirt, cold fingers digging through his innards, trying to find the last bit of the soul he had left. Then a sob, but the screams were still filling the background. Time he didn’t have wasted on screaming. Too late,  too late. 

He’d thought of dying. Yes, now. But also before. The sky flickered like a candle, the blues and greens mixed together and the darkness closed in on him. But the earth was wet, there was copper in his mouth and his own cold hands digging through a bag. Useless fingers, too frozen to respond to his commands. Another tree, falling, crashing down to earth, dead. The screaming stopped.

The world had gone silent. Back then, yes. Every noise in the universe had died down as he stared up at his own loneliness. But now, too. Someone was pulling him back, and he snarled, kicked, fought. He shoved and fought to go back. More hands pullingat him, at his clothes, faces screaming. 

He recognised a few. Doc was there, and Lipton, too. Nixon was screaming at the top of his lungs, face inches from Dick’s, but he couldn’t hear anything. He fought, tried to scream too, but couldn’t. Then Speirs was there, and Dick hit the ground hard enough for the air to leave his lungs. This time, the emptiness above didn’t look like god. 

It took him a few seconds.  Too long, too long.  He rolled on his side, began scrambling back to the foxhole, trying to breathe and scream at the same time. He could still taste copper, the earth was dry and hard under his fingernails. The foxhole was empty.

They didn’t talk about it. None of them did. But then, not all of them saw. There was Doc, and Lip, and Nix looking at him but at the same time  not looking at him. Looking through him. He’s the looking glass, and a shattered window. He’s the red wine spilled on a sheepskin. They want to avoid it. Not Speirs. But then, Ron was not one for avoidance. He looked straight at Dick, and reached out with red, grimy hands. He gripped Dick’s rib cage, cracked it open. Speirs didn’thave to speak. He tore through bone, and muscle and dug out the silver flame. 

It was Nixon who hauled him to his feet, but it was Speirs who shoved him through the door of uncertainty. He didn’t follow, but Nixon did. It was Nixon who peeled back the layers and got rid of the mud. A few minutes later he was once again hauled to his feet. Standing, walking, staring up at the sky. All those things Dick did but doesn’t remember doing. The devil’s in the details. 

Doc didn’t say anything, but even if he did, Dick couldn’t hear him. He gave Dick a stiff salute and led him through the dark. When he came up for air, he was alone. The curtains were the colour of the sky, and he didn’t want to open them. He closed his eyes. Then, yes. But also now. The noise was slowly coming back. Dick could hear things. Doc’s voice nearby, Nixon’s breathing. His hands shook but he went to the window. The world was still shattered. 

The curtains made a soft swishing noise as he pulled them back, and beyond them he could see the desolation of a world beyond saving. 

“Dick.”

He slowly turned around. The smallest morsel of hope flickered to life inside him. 

“Dick?”

“Rachel.” Her name is a prayer, an apology, and a sob all at once. He can’t move his legs, he’s frozen, he’s broken, he’s—

“Dick?”

A small hand touched his, and he felt warmth spreading through his body. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t. There are bandages around her chest, and she’s lying down instead of running around tending to others’ wounds. 

“I’m here. I’m here,” she soothed him. “I’m here.” 

All that time, he had been the one screaming.  Medic!  But she had been lying in a puddle of warm blood under him. She’s speaking softly, and he can feel her fingers on the back of his neck. Dick sobbed, and the air rushed painfully back into his lungs.

Alive again.


End file.
